


Third Time Lucky

by toesohnoes



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-14
Updated: 2011-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a strange planet, Chekov and McCoy end up isolated and infected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of [Five Acts](http://toestastegood.livejournal.com/598881.html).

Chekov is still exhausted and spent when McCoy pushes into him for the third time that night. His puckered hole is stretched and red around McCoy's thick cock, and even if Chekov isn't hard again yet he urges him on, his back arching. He needs it, _badly_.

McCoy grunts and fills him, pushing in as far as he can get - and still pushing onwards, both of them jerking over the grass with the momentum. Chekov shivers, his entire body quaking with intensity. His hands grasp McCoy's broad shoulders, holding him close as McCoy takes him, needing every inch of contact he can get.

McCoy's face buries against his neck, his mouth wet and his teeth blunt. He bites and nips as his hips thrust, leaving bruises upon bruises on Chekov's skin.

With one demanding hand, McCoy shoves Chekov's leg higher, from around his waist to over his shoulder, and the angle makes him slide deeper, thrust stronger, until Chekov's mouth falls open and he can do nothing but cry out for him. The sound comes from the centre of his chest, high-pitched and almost pained. It's too much, he can't stand it, but he can't stop. He won't let it.

McCoy's hands are usually brisk but gentle as he goes about his work, but now they are nothing but harsh and demanding, pinning Chekov down with his full strength - as if Chekov really wants to go anywhere, as if he has any intention of trying to escape. He rakes his fingers along Chekov's sides, leaving red welts in his wake, lines that will mark Chekov as his for all the time they take to heal.

"Never gonna stop," McCoy promises, grunting into his ear. Chekov is getting impossibly hard again, blood rushing to fill his cock even though he would have sworn there was nothing left. He could come just from McCoy's voice, from the promises he can't keep, but his body won't let him; nothing left, nothing but desire. He whines in desperation, clawing for McCoy, needing more than everything he's getting.

But there are hands on McCoy's shoulders, pulling him away, pulling him out, and Chekov reaches out to try to get him back - but he's gone, going, crew members in gas-masks restraining him.

They descend on Chekov as well, gloved hands trying to hold him down. He hears a voice - the captain, maybe - telling him that everything is going to be okay, but he strikes out and claws and rips, desperate to escape, to get back, his body aching with need. He doesn't think he'll survive without McCoy's weight and without the firm heat of him. He doesn't think he wants to, but then a long needle is breaking through his skin, soothing his mind, and his eyelids begin to close.


End file.
